


Just Desserts

by Sarai



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Baby Van Eck, Dirtyhands - Freeform, The Dregs - Freeform, Wesper fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 08:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: A mysterious package arrives at the Slat, one that might be a warning, a trick, or a threat to the Dregs--leaving Kaz enraged that anyone would dare mess with his crew.Meanwhile across town, Wylan and Jesper are happy and domestic because it's never the wrong time for fluff.





	Just Desserts

They still used some of the nicknames to his face, whispered others behind his back. No matter how many true achievements he amassed, they would never eclipse his mythology. Nor should they.

A black-gloved hand gripped a metal crow’s head, the walking stick making soft thunking noises along the cobblestones. Anyone in their right mind would know Kaz Brekker was coming. Someone attentive might notice he was in a sharply edged mood, his steps a touch more clipped than usual, his cane striking the stones with a smidge too much force.

Someone especially attentive might draw the distinction. They might realize the difference in the man still known, in lowest whispers, as the Bastard of the Barrel.

Braam noticed.

The boy was angling to be a spider one day, but today he was just a boy, only eight years old, young enough that his mind had wandered. He should have spotted the boss well down the road, but he was distracted by a scent on the wind. Once you were numb to the regular old reeks of the Barrel, you could ignore them when there was something to sniff out, like fresh bread. He liked the smell of fresh bread. Braam was a good climber but not always so sneaky. He needed to do better as a sneaker. When he did, he told himself, there would always be fresh bread to eat.

Kaz Brekker wouldn’t have approved of Braam losing his thoughts. He could always tell. Sometimes he mentioned it later. Other times his cane would crack down inches from Braam’s ear and make him jump about half a foot—nothing was an incentive like crossing Kaz Brekker.

Luckily today the old man was too far down the street to spot Braam (probably) as the boy wriggled backwards on his belly. He was getting loads better at this! It wasn’t a real roof, just a little piece of one. When his feet hit the wall, rather than turn around, he tried to search with his toes until he found the window. Then, biting his lip to keep the noise to a minimum, he pushed himself through.

Braam landed in a tangled heap on the floor and quickly righted himself, bolting out of the room.

“He’s coming!” he announced. The rest of the littlest Dregs had counted on him to keep this information. In trade, they had agreed to save a piece from the mysterious bounty that arrived in the Slat that afternoon.

“The old man’s coming and he’s in a real strop,” Braam told his comrades. “Where is it?”

There was a nod toward an upside-down bucket on a shelf. The five of them kipped in the same room; they didn’t any of them take up much space, and they had a share and share alike agreement. Braam squatted near the bucket and lifted it. Beneath it, on a scrap of cloth, sat several pieces of cake. Only one was a proper slice, the rest partially eaten.

Braam grinned. He inhaled its scent, then stuck one grubby finger into the frosting and sucked it clean.

“Chocolate,” he breathed.

“Not now.” Xinyi could be bossy, but she was usually right, too.

They had been quick to grab pieces of the treat before either it was all gone or they were told they weren’t allowed any. Most of the others would have eaten some of theirs, but Braam, busy being the lookout, hadn’t yet.

“It’s a secret,” she reminded the others.

“Right,” Braam said.

“Hands,” Nes said, and out came 9 hands. Wendel only had the one, but he was good with it. The merchers were usually too busy pitying the poor crippled boy to realize he was picking their pockets.

Their eyes roamed one another’s hands, checking for smears of chocolate or crumbs of cake. Only once each of them had nodded did they scramble out of the room.

Just in time! The group heard the main door shut. A shiver of seriousness went through the whole building: the old man was here. It wasn’t easy to be a Dreg so young, and even if you did stick around, Kaz Brekker made clear anyone too stupid to get back to the Slat who was shoved into the canal at night hadn’t deserved to be a Dreg anyway. So the fledglings made it a point to be seen. They wanted the old man to know they made it home.

They gathered on the stairs, but the atmosphere in the the Slat wasn’t what it should have been.

“What is this?” growled Kaz Brekker.

Uncertain looks passed through the group. They heard his voice clearly even from the next room.

The response wasn’t clear, but his next comment was: “So you decided to just eat it? Who in this building isn’t a complete podge?!”

The fledglings began to edge back up the stairs. Apparently the old man didn’t think the sudden appearance of cake was something to celebrate. Sure, they knew they had enemies. But… mostly their enemies kicked them in the streets or shoved them into the muck. What kind of a gang sent a cake? It was a good-looking cake, too!

They hadn’t managed to disappear from view yet when an older member of the gang stepped through the door, spotted them, and asked, “Did you scraps eat any cake?”

Five very nervous heads shook that, no, they hadn’t. Cake? What cake? There was cake? No one told them about cake!

The response was a nod and a, “They didn’t have any, boss.”

Kaz Brekker strode out, muttering about incompetence so loudly the kids heard. Some pressed closer to the railing. Xinyi and Nes put themselves on the outside of the group, while Gert, the smallest, was pushed to the back.

“I did say,” Braam muttered.

“You said he was in a strop, not foaming at the mouth!” hissed Nes.

Gert’s head appeared around the side.

Braam pushed her back. “Not real foam.”

For a lame man, Kaz Brekker could make his way quite quickly up a flight of stairs.

“Do I tolerate idiots in this gang?” he asked.

The group shook their heads. No, he was very clear on his feelings about idiots.

“That’s good. I had forgotten, since apparently I have five little people here who didn’t think far enough to keep from running a thin game on their own boss. Maybe those people needed extra time to think. Nes.”

Kaz Brekker motioned the boy forward with one black-gloved finger. Nes took a step. His fingers laced together to hide the shake in them, but he stuck his chin up.

“Have you eaten any cake?”

Nes glanced back at the others. Then he nodded.

“Have all of you eaten cake?”

“Braam didn’t.”

“I see. Well, tomorrow, if Braam is the only one of you alive because he’s the only one sensible enough not to put something in his mouth without thinking where it came from—just in case Braam is the only one with two brain cells to rub together—maybe I’ll promote him. Or maybe you won’t die. Maybe you will be moaning in agony and filling your trousers, and Braam can clean up the mess. Maybe next time you’ll all think twice before assuming fortune has smiled on a bunch of scraps here in the Barrel. Any deal that seems like it’s too good to be true usually is. Gert.”

The girl squeaked. It was rare for him to address her. She was scared of Kaz Brekker. Everyone was scared of Kaz Brekker, but not everyone had been scared into an accident the time they were tricked out of a prize by a Razorgull with a fake tattoo.

“Fetch me any that’s left.”

She scurried to obey.

Despite everything, Braam felt a tug of disappointment. Kaz Brekker might say the cake was poison, but… what if it was just cake? And what if the poison wasn’t so bad? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted a chocolate as rich as that lick of frosting, if he ever had. Maybe it was worth a belly ache.

But it was not worth whatever the old man doled out.

* * *

Kaz was furious.

A cake. Who sent a cake?!

Gert had obligingly brought him a bucket of cake—mostly empty, of course, the bucket was simply a mode of transportation. Kaz had given her the nod that was as close as he ever came to a pat on the head and taken the leftovers into his office. The rest of the cake was there, too.

He leaned on his cane and scowled. What was he going to do then? He supposed he would wait a day or two. Hopefully no one showed symptoms.

How were his Dregs this stupid!? A cake! It shouldn’t have even been brought into the Slat!

Was it worth trying to determine if it contained something else? Kaz could only think of three reasons to send someone such a strange gift. One was the obvious: poison. The second was to sneak something in, like the chloro pellets they snuck into the Ice Court. Third… third was just to mess with him.

He had forbidden the Dregs from eating any more of the cake to address the first concern.

He was considering how to best destroy the cake without destroying any little surprises to address the second. If anyone had designs on him and his crew, Kaz needed to know as early as possible.

As for the third…

Well. It was working.

As he stared at the cake, willing it to betray its secrets, he silently swore that whoever had sent a threat to his gang would be dealt with, but if that person had dared ruffle his fledglings’ feathers, he would kill them slow. Of course the young ones were particularly susceptible to this, had seen a cake and not thought twice. It made Kaz a special sort of cold furious.

He had made clear from the start that the children were off-limits. That Razorgull who tricked Gert hadn’t been able to keep a coin in his pocket for a month after. When a Black Tip tried to drag Wendel into an alley, Kaz said nothing, just snapped his cane against the man’s ribs, then both his wrists.

Not that Kaz was soft, of course. He hadn’t actually told his fledglings what he ordered on the first. For the second, he looked at the boy and said, “Are you coming?” then strode off home, letting Wendel scurry to keep up. The city wouldn’t be kind and neither would Kaz, but damned if he wasn’t good to them.

Nothing about the cake looked suspicious. It was just a cake. But… that didn’t make any sense, did it? No one in their right mind just sent a cake. This had a meaning. A message. And Kaz was terribly vexed by his inability to decipher it.

* * *

 **Geldstraat  
** **Two Days Later**

Wylan Van Eck was going to do something very stupid. As an advantage, it meant leaving off the flashier trappings of his house. There would be no ruby and laurel pin glinting from his tie, lapel, or cuffs today; he left off his watch, though not the chain.

As a disadvantage he ran the possibility of being beaten and left in an alley. It hadn’t happened yet, but he recognized the chance.

He gave his comb one more shot at making any order out of his curls, then gave up and straightened his tie. Presentable enough. Presentable as he needed to be.

“Hey.”

He tapped the sole of one of Jesper’s feet where it stuck out from beneath the covers. Jesper gave a half-grunt, half-word of protest and curled his feet under the blankets.

“Don’t sleep too late.”

“Mmmf.”

“You promised you’d do your best with university if I helped you burn off some of that excess energy. I’ve kept my end of the bargain, Jesper Fahey.”

Not that Wylan had minded. Not in the least.

“’k…”

Wylan took that as a promise. (Maybe a snore.) He shrugged on his jacket and stepped into the corridor, intending to swing past the music room—from the sound of the piano, he would find his mother there—but he didn’t make it even to the top of the stairs before being waylaid.

“Wylan!”

The squealed greeting was followed by an already exhausted nanny: “I’m sorry, Mister Van Eck, I turned away for two seconds—”

“It’s all right, Lise. Good morning, Neely.”

He crouched and opened his arms to his sister, who giggled and hurled herself into an embrace. Wylan would forever be grateful to Adem Bajan for talking Alys out of sticking the poor kid with the name Plumje. No child deserved that, but especially not his baby sister.

At four, Cornelia was a dangerous creature, too cute by half and too clever by a good deal more. She could already read and was quickly learning Zemeni from Jesper, who promised Wylan he excluded the naughty words (for now). Wylan had worked with her on counting, but he made the mistake of only teaching her up to five the first day. Now he was working on converting her from quinary to decimal.

“I’ll take her off your hands for a little while,” he told Lise, scooping up the child. He tugged at her shirt. “Don’t chew.” Sometimes, times that made Wylan hold on a few seconds too long until Neely squirmed away from a boring old hug, he was grateful all over again she would never meet Jan. She was like Wylan. Clever. Different.

She reminded Wylan that he was still vulnerable, because the thought of her meeting Jan shook him. Neely was bright and sharp and joyful, but she wasn’t regular. Sometimes she was reading quietly to herself, sometimes she was sneaking an extra cookie, sometimes she was screaming and scratching herself and kicking out like she couldn’t stop. She was just a little girl and Jan would put out the light in her eyes.

Neely pouted at him, but let Wylan pull her shirt out of her mouth. The necklines of her clothes had seen better days than the very moment they met her, poor things.

“What are your plans today?”

She heave a dramatic sigh. “Lessons,” she announced, and put her head down on his shoulder like she was already worn out at the prospect.

Being four is tough.

“Lessons! Think you can do me a favor before then?”

She sprang back up and asked, “What business?” in the voice she only used when imitating important guests. (They’d had a few talks about that. She only did it after the guests left… now.)

Wylan turned back the way he came.

“I need you—in fact, in the name of the House of Van Eck, I deputize you,” he amended, gently tapping his knuckles against her head, “to make sure your bigger brother gets to university on time today. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“There’s my good girl.”

He returned to the bedroom and glanced inside. Jesper was still under the covers, pretending the morning hadn’t started yet.

“Jes, remember what I said about oversleeping.”

Jesper definitely replied with a sentence. It was mumbled directly into the pillow, and Wylan didn’t catch it, but it sounded like a sentence.

He might have asked for clarification.

Instead he deposited their sister on the bed.

“Bigger brother, guess what!” she yelped.

In case they had any doubt how she saw Jesper, the title she used simplified that. Wylan was her big brother. So Jesper was her bigger brother.

Jesper pushed himself up on one elbow, giving Wylan a bleary, mildly furious look before turning his attention to Neely.

“What, Chirp?”

“I’m deputized!”

“Your brother may be evil.”

“Now, now, Jesper, it’s important for Neely to be a part of things.”

Jesper mouthed something Wylan was fairly certain was “traitor”.

Wylan just shook his head. “Take care of each other, my loves.”

He left them to it. There was a forty to seventy percent chance they would both fall asleep again, and he made sure to tell Lise to wake them in a quarter-hour.

He did make it down to the music room this time.

“Good morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, Wylan. Are you going to the Exchange?”

“Not directly,” he promised, “I’ll be back to clean up before then.”

He hugged her. One last stop before the canals—he grabbed a ginger cookie from the kitchen and stuck it in his pocket beside the end of his watch chain.

Only an extremely powerful or extremely cocky man wore a good watch into the Barrel. Wylan was neither. He was rich, but he wasn’t stupid about it. If someone made to pick his pocket, at least they’d get a reward for their trouble… albeit not the reward they wanted.

He had never especially liked the Barrel. He had survived it, sure. But never liked it. There was nothing of home in the scent of last night’s bodily fluids splashed along the cobblestones. One would have to be mad to think so.

Mad, or Kaz Brekker.

Wylan strode into the Slat more confidently than he ever did when he lived in the neighborhood. He recognized a few of the Dregs, but it seemed Kaz had continued his strategy of taking in the most bedraggled of canal rats to create a loyal, hardy crew.

“Who’re you?” demanded a scrawny, hard-eyed child.

“Ease off, Xinyi,” growled a woman just a few years older than Wylan.

Wylan gave her an easy smile. “Good morning, Anika.”

She nodded. “Little merch.” He wasn’t so little anymore, but kept that thought to himself. Anika had once helped beat him until he could barely stand. They had a Barrel sort of acquaintanceship. “Old man’s in his office. You didn’t pick the luckiest day for a visit.”

Apparently one did not get to lead the Dregs without that title. The old man.

“I’ll take my chances,” Wylan said. He strode over to the office door and knocked. “Brekker!”

“Come in.”

He did.

The office was untidy. That wasn’t like Kaz. It wasn’t a mess, but there were a few papers out of place. Probably he would have tidied them for anyone else. A plate with a slice of cake sat at the edge of the desk, stale like it had been left there for two days.

Kaz himself looked… harsh. He looked like he hadn’t slept, his dark eyes shadowed. He was seated, scowling, the crow’s head cane leaning against his desk in easy reach.

“I see you received our cake.”

Kaz gave Wylan a surprised look, then narrowed his eyes.

“Your cake.”

“Well, your cake, from me and Jes.”

“Why.”

“You don't need a reason to have cake, Kaz.”

There hadn’t been any other reason, they simply hadn’t thought they needed one. They were out one evening and spotted little marzipan animals in the bakery window. It got them talking about The Old Days, about the crew, and one thing led to another. They laughed about the number of times Kaz inflicted a sulky, out-of-his-depth Wylan on Jesper.

It had been random, yes, but Kaz was not only their friend (in his own way) but a significant part of their current circumstances. Sending the Dregs a cake seemed ridiculous. So of course Wylan and Jesper goaded each other into doing it.

Judging from the look on his face, Kaz had not shared in the joke. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Just in the nick of time, Wylan realized that he had perhaps made a mistake in trusting Jesper to write the note…

The crash of a shattering plate from Brekker’s office made Anika and Xinyi look up sharply, then glance at each other.

“Who’s the merch, anyway?” Xinyi asked.

“Friend of the old man’s. Off limits.”

Xinyi shrugged and said, “From now on,” then bit into a ginger cookie.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did have a reason in mind for Wylan to be raising his baby sibling... though admittedly, Wylan and Jesper being brothers-slash-guardians to a mini-human was part of it!
> 
> 8/10 - edited to change Wylan's sister's name to something more Dutch. My own lack of integrity was bothering me.


End file.
